“May you take time to celebrate the quiet miracles that seek no attention.” —John O’Donohue
I just lately started the Fourth Week of the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius. One of my first assignments was to spend a while considering Mary assembly Jesus after the Resurrection. The fruits that got here from that distinctive prayer expertise took my breath away.
This assembly was not recorded within the Gospels. One of the graces of Ignatian contemplation, nonetheless, is that it offers us the instruments to contemplate the “what ifs.” For instance, what if this assembly of Mary and Jesus that wasn’t recorded nonetheless occurred? What if it wasn’t documented on objective? What if we don’t get to examine it as a result of it was one of many quiet miracles, the sort that seeks no consideration? What if it have been the kind of miracle the place the proof of it lies solely within the deep recesses of our hearts?
If I let my creativeness go there, it appears apparent that Jesus would go to his mother sooner or later after his Resurrection. It would possibly even have been the very first thing he did. It appears apparent to me that he would do it quietly, out of sight of anybody who would wish to doc it later. I think about Jesus would need this to be a valuable second shared solely together with his mother. When I image this scene, my coronary heart acknowledges that this was a quiet miracle reserved only for her.
To me, Jesus assembly Mary was like several time God whispers to us as a substitute of shouting. It’s like the looks of God, not within the wind, the hearth, and the good earthquakes (these naturally massive spectacles that everybody can see for miles round) however in a tiny whisper coming into one set of ears on a quiet night time. (1 Kings 19:11–12)
When I first tried to think about Jesus assembly Mary after the Resurrection, I believed, If I have been Mary, I’d be on the tomb. I’d be seeking to see if God made one thing miraculous out of this horrible occasion. Where was she? Upon additional reflection, nonetheless, I feel I’d be house as a substitute. I’d be lacking my son, however I’d even be throwing myself into work and making an attempt to maintain that bit of religion the angel requested me to have from the primary second I mentioned “Yes.”
As I labored round the home, I’d even be struggling to persuade myself that it was all actual, that my Son was God, and I used to be chosen for this ache. I’d be questioning if God would ship me an indication to make the grief reduce or go away. I’d be searching my window for the hearth. I’d be checking my home body for the reverberations of the earthquake. I’d be so centered on in search of the massive miracle that I’d in all probability miss my son strolling within the door casually as if he have been coming over for Sunday dinner. I’d nearly miss his mild contact on my shoulder, a bouquet of flowers picked from the yard in his hand.
I’d nearly miss the quiet miracle within the loud wake of my grief.
Maybe I think about it this fashion as a result of I wish to imagine wholeheartedly within the quiet miracles, the holes within the Gospel tales that remind me that not all the pieces God does is for public consumption. If I can imagine that Jesus met Mary in a quiet second after his Resurrection, then I can imagine that Jesus needs to fulfill me too, in essentially the most odd of moments.
I can go away my ears open for the tiny whisper on a quiet night time that claims, “I am here.”
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